Free The Angel's Command by Brian Jacques Page B

man had seen in his eyes. The Frenchman warmed his hands by the fire. “See, I knew that you two were lucky to me. Don’t worry, I’ll pay the padre for anything he can give to us in the way of supplies. Well done, lad. You and Ned get some sleep now. There’s lots to do once day breaks!”
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Dawn’s first pale light was streaking the skies over a smooth and tranquil sea, and the Diablo Del Mar was little more than three miles off the coast of Mayagüez. Rocco Madrid was roused from his cabin by a shout from Pepe, the lookout. “Sail off the stern to starboard!”
    The Spanish pirate captain hurried out on deck and clapped the telescope to his eye. “A fishing vessel! Portugee, come about to meet it. I’ll have words with the skipper.”
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Fear was the first reaction shown by the thin, tombstone-toothed Carib who skippered the small schooner-rigged fishing craft. He knew he was facing a pirate vessel whose guns he could not outrun. The man had dealt with those of The Brotherhood before. Hiding his terror behind a huge grin, he held up two large fish, shouting, “A good day to you, friends. My fish are fresh caught during the night, the finest in all these waters. Will you buy some and help to feed my poor wife and ten children, amigos?”
    The Diablo loomed up alongside the small craft, dwarfing it. Rocco Madrid leaned over the midship rail and looked down at the skipper. Producing a gold coin, he spun it toward the fisherman, who caught it with great alacrity and waited in respectful silence to hear what the dangerous-looking pirate had to say.
    Madrid held up another gold coin meaningfully. “Keep your fish, amigo. Where have ye been trawling? I mean you no harm—all I want is information.”
    The skipper swept off his battered straw hat and bowed, testing the gold coin between his teeth as he did so. “What can I tell you, señor? We are bound for Santo Domingo on Hispaniola after three days and nights fishing the waters round the Isle of St. Croix. Ah, it is a hard life, yes?”
    Madrid nodded. “Never mind your life story. If you want to earn that gold piece, and the one I have here, tell me: Did you see any other ships since you’ve been out? I’m looking for a French buccaneer named La Petite Marie. ”
    Holding the hat flat against his chest, the skipper bowed again. “I cannot read the letters, señor, but we sighted a vessel. Not as grand and large as your ship, but round in the bow and very fast-looking. She flew the skull and blades, just as you do. A Brethren vessel, eh?”
    Rocco’s eyes lit up. “That’s her! Where was she when you saw her, amigo? Tell me!”
    The skipper waved his hat back over his shoulder. “Sailing toward the southeast coast, I think, maybe to Ponce, Guayama or Arroyo, who knows?”
    The Spaniard stroked his moustache, slightly puzzled. “What would Thuron want around there? Hmm, maybe he has a secret hiding place. I’ll soon find out, though!” He pocketed the gold coin and drew his sword, pointing it at the hapless fishing-boat skipper. “I know Hispaniola well. If you’ve lied to me, I’ll find you. Ten children is a lot for a widow to support, remember that.”
    Dismissing the fishing boat, he turned to Pepe. “Get my charts, I’ll take charge of this operation!”
    Pepe hurried off to the captain’s cabin, where he gathered up charts, muttering to himself, “When did he never take charge? But who am I to mention this, nothing but a donkey.”
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Aboard the Devon Belle, Captain Redjack Teal was also studying his charts whilst taking breakfast. His new cook, an undersized seaman named Moore, stood nervously by, watching as Teal forked a minute portion of fish into his mouth. The privateer captain pulled a face of disgust and spat the food onto the deck, then glared balefully at Moore. “Curse your